


jack-in-the-box

by ignipes



Category: Panic At The Disco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-24
Updated: 2008-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is cuddling and not a whole lot more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	jack-in-the-box

"You go first."

"No, you go first."

"He'll hit me."

"He already hit me."

"You don't even have a bruise."

"I might next time."

"Stop being such a baby."

"Both of you stop being babies, seriously. You'll wake him up."

"I think he's already awake."

Oh. Oops.

"'M not," Brendon says. He cracks his eyes open and squints at the three figures standing over him. Looming, really. Nobody should be allowed to loom at this hour. "Still sleeping. Go away."

He closes his eyes again.

"We're not going away." There's an huff of breath and a rustle of clothing that means Spencer is crossing his arms and getting that annoyed, impatient look on his face, the one that's fairly awesome when it's directed at the world at large but completely sucks when it's directed at Brendon.

"Fine," Brendon says, even though he probably shouldn't be answering if he's supposed to be asleep. "But I'm still sleeping."

Somebody pokes his stomach--stupid Jon, always with the poking--and Brendon bats his hand away and curls onto his side. "You're not sleeping," says Jon. Another poke and, really, Jon needs to learn to keep his fingers to himself. "You don't talk in your sleep."

"Yes he does," Ryan says. "All the time."

"Sings, too," Spencer adds.

"The sleep-singing is kind of cute," Ryan says, "even if most of it doesn't make sense."

Spencer snickers. "Only because he's singing your lyrics."

Brendon starts to laugh too, then he remembers that he's supposed to be asleep and stops abruptly.

"Ah." The mattress dips as somebody sits down, and it's weird that he can't tell which of them it is until he catches a whiff of Spencer's shampoo. Spencer likes to think he's sneaky, but his devout adherence to his hair care ritual always gives him away. Brendon doesn't open his eyes, he just waits, because Spencer isn't touching him at all--then suddenly he _is_ , pressed tight along Brendon's back. His breath is warm on Brendon's neck, one arm wrapped around his waist, one leg thrown over Brendon's, and Brendon couldn't go anywhere eve if he wanted too. Spencer has seriously fierce cuddling tactics. He's like a Navy SEAL of snuggling.

"Except without the wetsuit."

"What?"

Oh. Maybe he said that part out loud.

"I'm sorry I hit you," Brendon says in a small voice. It wasn't even a very hard hit, definitely not a proper punch. Brendon _can_ do a proper punch (he made Zack teach him, just in case he was mugged or attacked by ninjas or kidnapped by weird scene kids when Zack wasn't around), but he would never use it on a friend. "I shouldn't have done that."

"It didn't hurt," Spencer says. "Except for my fragile feelings. You can be a little mean sometimes."

"Yeah." That's the important bit anyway. "I'm sorry."

The bed dips again, and Brendon doesn't have to wait this time to guess who it is. Jon is totally predictable like that; if there is cuddling to be done, he'll do everything short of wearing a t-shirt that says "I Want To Be The Little Spoon" to get in on that action. And that's probably only because he doesn't have a t-shirt that says that yet. His birthday is coming up.

"You're like a jack-in-the-box," Jon says, insinuating himself under Brendon's arm until his nose is pressed against Brendon's neck and his hair is tickling his face. When he talks his breath is warm against Brendon's skin, his voice rumbling and rambling and comfortable. "All colorful and sparkly on the outside, with all that cheerful music that's actually kind of creepy if you think about it, I mean, not that you're creepy, but tinkly music being cranked out of a box is kind of creepy, especially a box that's painted with hearts and flowers and shit. And there's no warning, the music just keeps going right until the box explodes--"

"I don't think jack-in-the-boxes usually explode," Ryan says wryly, and Brendon wants to open his eyes then, he wants to see, because Ryan is still standing over them, too far away.

" _Metaphorically_ explode," Jon insists. "And that's--"

"That's why we don't let you do metaphors."

"That's like _you_ , Brendon," Jon says. He twists a little and pulls his arm from between them, probably to flip Ryan off. "All happy music and shit right until you blow your top and scare all the little kids away."

Brendon swallows guiltily around the lump in his throat. "Sorry," he says again. "I won't--"

Spencer squeezes him tightly. "Dude, we're not mad at you for getting mad. Just, you know. You don't have to save up months' worth of shouting and do it all at once."

"It's not healthy," Ryan says solemnly. "You shouldn't do that."

From Ryan, that means the same thing as _apology accepted_ , so Brendon does open his eyes then, finally. "You're too far away," he says. Ryan is still standing beside the bed, a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

Ryan shakes his head. "There's no room."

Years of practice deciphering the language of Ryan Ross means Brendon knows that this particular _there's no room_ doesn't mean _you guys don't need me anyway, I'm going to go sit in a corner by myself and pretend to write deep and meaningful lyrics while actually making cat macros_. It means _there's no room, but I won't let that stop me_.

Brendon rolls onto his back, ignoring Spencer's surprised, "Oof, _elbows_ ," and Jon's protesting, "Hey, don't go."

Brendon says, "There's always room. You weigh like seventeen pounds."

Ryan arches one eyebrow, and that's all the warning they get before he throws himself across the bed and drapes himself over them amidst the chorus of "ouch!" and "your knee, fuck" and "ow, my nose" and "dude, sensitive area." Ryan ignores all of them and tucks his head under Brendon's chin, humming happily under his breath.

"It's like being in a horror movie," Brendon says, when he's certain he won't puncture anything important by speaking. He moves his head a little so he's not accidentally chewing on Ryan's hair. "You know, when they're going through the haunted house and they open the closet and the gross mummified skeleton falls out on them with all its, you know, mummy drapings and creepy teeth and bones?"

"Hey," Ryan says.

"It's just like that."

" _Hey._ "

"Is for horses."

Jon says. "I can't feel my arm."

Spencer says. "I think you twisted my knee."

"I can't breathe," Brendon says, "and one of my ribs just cracked."

Ryan sighs and wriggles around a little more, making himself comfortable. "Guys, shut up. I'm trying to sleep here."

Brendon closes his eyes again. He's really kind of uncomfortably warm now, trapped by bodies on three sides, and he's pretty sure if he moves at all it'll end with Jon falling off the bed and Ryan elbowing Spencer in the face, but it's not really an immediate concern. Breathing is overrated anyway.


End file.
